9 Weeks
by Jish
Summary: Every nine weeks, something happens to Kyle that he pretty much hates. It's been happening for years. As he talks to Stan, though, he realizes it'll be okay sooner rather than later. SLASH! BOY x BOY. Humor! Complete.


**Disclaimer: I do not in ANY WAY own South Park.**

**Warning: This is an established BOY x BOY relationship in this story.**

**A/N: Here****'s just a small oneshot with an idea I got earlier. I hope it doesn't suck that much. I'm going for an overall humor-with-funny-dark-undertone story, if that makes sense.**

**Also, please review!**

**Here it is:**

**9 Weeks**

It's been nine weeks. I hate what happens every nine weeks. Why? Because, it's been nice weeks since...

My last haircut.

It's not that I like my hair long, because I certainly do not! As a child, my fair was too freakishly long; that's why I always wore my hat. Once I started to outgrow my hat (and never able to find a matching bigger one), I decided to scrap hats altogether. And my mom was embarrassed of my hair then, my dad started taking me to his barber, which he happens to go to every _three_ weeks.

It's not the haircut itself that I don't like. Short hair means easier to wash in the shower. Simple as that. And by nine weeks, my hair is long enough (but not too long that it looks bad; in fact, I rather like how my hair looks between five and nine weeks) to warrant a cut.

But what I hate about my haircut is getting my beard trimmed.

Once I turned fourteen three years ago when high school started, I started to grow my first beard, and it was rapid. And it's just like my dad's beard: connecting from sideburn to sideburn spanning from right under my chin to the middle of my neck; however, the only difference is that mine is much, much longer. Pretty much, I have a full-on Jew beard.

But I like it! I like my beard! When I look in the mirror, it let's me know that I'm a man! When I kiss my boyfriend he likes to hold it in his hands. But worst of all...

...It gets itchy and rough when it starts growing back!

But, no! I can't have it. My Mom tells me it's disgusting to look at. So she compromised with me to not shaving it, but to get it trimmed as much as possible.

I asked my parents at dinner two years ago why I can never keep my beard the way I want it. Their responses sucked.

"Mom, Dad, why can't I just keep by beard? Dad has one, so why can't I?" I had asked them, and Mom just shook her head.

"Because it's disgusting. The only reason I keep mine is because it helps to signify my Jewish faith, son. It's the only thing I hate. I would laser my face to never grow one again if I was able to. So, that's why." My Dad says, and my Mom just agrees with him.

"But I like mine! Shouldn't I be able to keep it if I want to?" I had asked. It's simple; if I want a beard I should be able to keep it.

"No, you can't. I'm sorry, bubbeleh, but we are in charge until you move out for college. Not not only that, think of poor Stanley. I feel sorry for when he has to kiss that." My mom had said.

Stan and I have been in a relationship since freshman year in high school. We are now in our final semester of high school. Next year, we're both going to the University of Colorado, Boulder on scholarships: Stan on a sports scholarship with high academic achievement and me on a scholarship to be part of a medical research team with a focus on statistics and statistical analysis.

Speaking of our relationship, we came out soon after we got together. My parents were surprisingly accepting. Stan's mother, Sharon, was totally accepting, but his father, Randy, wasn't the biggest supporter of us.

Sharon actually had my parents talk to Randy to figure out what his problem was, and it turned out it wasn't that bad. He just didn't want Stan to have a harder life in the future, but he was never against Stan or us. And that's what matters.

"I'll have you know that he likes me beard!" I told them in response, and they just shrugged it off.

"Too bad, Kyle." And that was the end of it. Now, I just have to get it over with every nine weeks. It grows back fairly quickly (about four to five weeks), but I hate to see it go away every single time.

I hate seeing the little red hairs, in clumps, fall onto the barber robe and then the floor, usually unto my shoes. Then I have to go back home feeling itchy because there's loose hair all over my shirt and pants, while I scratch my face and don't like the feel because it's all rough!

Stan is with me right now. He has to go to work when Dad and me leave, so we're spending some time together right now.

"This really sucks, dude." I tell him, and he chuckles.

"Yeah, but at least it'll grow back." He says, reaching over to rub my lower cheek. "God it feels nice." He says, and I smile.

"I'm still surprised you like it. One night it appeared out of nowhere." I say, and he shrugs his shoulder.

"True But I had a year to get used to it, and now I love it; even more since we got together. It just screams you, dude." He says, and I grab his shoulder signaling him for a kiss.

"At least once we move to campus in a few months I get to do what I want with it." I say, and he leans his head on my shoulder, nuzzling the beard like a cat.

"I certainly won't make you get rid of it. I'll let you grow it however long, or short if you start to not like it, you desire. I love you, Kyle. Beard or no beard, you're my man, and I'm yours." He says, and I force him closer, which just results his face going into my neck. We both have a chuckle at this.

"Are you worried about college, Stan? I mean, my scholarship requirements are going to be hard, especially if I double major in Statistics _and_ Biology. I'm worried I won't be able to handle it." I tell him, changing the topic entirely.

"Yes. I mean, I could get injured at any moment and never play football again and lose half my scholarship. And then I think about that other half, and then I remember it's because if you being always on my ass to work. And I am grateful, don't get me wrong. But it does scare me. It's what it is. All I know is that we'll be fine. We're each other's rocks." Stan says, and I just stroke his cheek while his head is still on my shoulder.

"Kyle, we're leaving now!" My Dad calls from downstairs. Stan looks up at me, and I smile. He reaches for my beard once again.

"I'm so going to miss this thing." He says and is now really rubbing it. He realizes it's the last he'll see it at this length until it grows back in about a month.

"Just think about it, though. After today, Stan, there will only be the nine weeks once more. One more appointment until we move out and it will be as long as it can grow." I say, and he chuckles.

"Well, though I said as long as you want...maybe not _that_ long. I don't want it touching the floor like some old monk's beard!" He says, and that really makes me laugh.

"Kyle! Stan! Come on! We have to go and you have to go to work!" My Dad calls from downstairs once again and we get up from my bed.

"See you tonight? Come by for dinner?" Stan asks, and I nod. "Awesome, see you then, Kyle, I love you." He says and I give him one last kiss before we head downstairs, get in our respective cars, and part ways until tonight.

Just one more cluster of nine weeks.

Just a few short months until college.

Just a few more months until the beginning of the rest of our lives, when everything can and will change.

Except for one thing...

...My beard will stay!

**THE END**

**A/N: Well, I hope you all enjoyed that little story. I actually came up with this idea while I was getting my haircut earlier, and I had to write it before I forgot about it. I hope this didn't suck that much. Did I achieve that humorous feel alongside an anxious undertone? I would love to hear your opinions. Also, don't forget to review.**


End file.
